


Behold these present days have eyes to wonder

by felixruveris



Category: The White Queen - Fandom
Genre: Drabble Series, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Ficlets, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixruveris/pseuds/felixruveris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A multifandom series of drabbles and ficlets on historical characters in a modern setting. What happens when their dirty little secrets get outed on a gossip magazine?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behold these present days have eyes to wonder

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure what to think about this, to be honest. I hope I got the characterization straight (Lizzie being not entirely meek and mild and Henry not the cold-hearted winter king to his bride to be). This is inspired by my MODERN!AUs series on tumblr and it might or might not have more chapters in the future. A little background: Lizzie, as Edward's firstborn, is bound to be queen someday, and in order to end the rift between the Lancaster side and the York side, is basically being eased into Henry's arms. The pair end up liking one another, bonding over their similarities (no matter the age gap) but keep relatively private -that is until they are spotted at a party together (going being Lizzie's idea, of course). Read on and see what happens when they find themselves outed whether they want it or not.

_**[G](http://felixruveris.tumblr.com/post/91270250390/the-white-queen-modern-au-gotcha-even-in-a)OTCHA! ** Even in a world where you may  stumble in a princess while shopping and princes walk out of college classes like everybody else, royalty doesn’t cease to allure -nor to party. Looks like young love is in the air at court, or at the very least some of the royal new generation are getting close - as in REALLY close. Look inside for the whole story and our speculation: sorrowfully enough, no statement has been released from the couple themselves. Let’s face, it, though: the love may have yet to fully blossom, but we definitely want this to happen! _

 

* * *

 

 

   Of course, he knows before she does – she catches a flash of annoyance in his forever hard-to-read face as she shows him the articles, their picture selves broadly smiling back at them from the cover. She’s not surprised at the notion: after all, he is rumored to have the right connections everywhere he turns, and it is not hard to believe that. He looks like a hawk, his gaze forever piercing, forever focused (except when it is not, and she can tell he’s thinking back to another place, to other people she is never going to meet and jealousy stings the inside of her chest).

She is not caught unaware, but she does feel a tiny inner wince, barely noticeable. She chooses to ignore it and her face arranges in a humorous expression. _“And we were, certain that we were stealthy enough for them not to notice our little outing. Color me impressed with their skills.”_ They actually never ceased to amaze her in their ability to track her down like a hunters with a particularly prized prey (she is content she’s able to shrug it off, at this point). She does not expect a laugh –that would be unnatural-, though she admits to herself she had been hoping for a chuckle. He gives her neither, his head bowed down on his notes, black hair now shielding away his reaction from her gaze.

She puts a blonde strand of hers behind her ear as she sits next to him, easing herself on the stone-cold bench. She feels a tightness in her stomach she finds herself quite unable to put aside: she can see him better from this angle, and the crease in his forehead she does not like  one bit. He has never been one take thing lightly (especially when he was not expecting the blow or found himself helpless before it), but this gloomy attitude of his is steering something in herself she is not entirely getting, at the moment.

The silence is heavy - she knows his silences better than she does his words, and this one is uneasy, breeding troubles. She stares at him discreetly behind the curtain of her hair, spying on his cast down eyes, her hands fidgetting nervously (as she hardly ever is) with a the thin paper of the magazine cover, her damp skin wetting it slightly. It occurs to her briefly that it is not appropriate for a future queen to get her panties in a knot over a silly article, but she begins to fill the hollow quietness with her own stream of thoughts. She realizes, for instance, that she is irritated. She rarely is, so it takes her a moment to identify it for what it is, but then she is not breathing any easier, and the tightness translates into a stiffer position, a straighter back.

 _“It is not like this come as a surprise. They must have guessed for a while, now, that we are the means to mend the rift between our families.”_ It’s not quite an arranged relationship but it’s not far from being so, to be honest. They’ve been pushing them together at parties, they’d found themselves sitting side by side at dinners, each mentions of each others’ being dropped here and there, seemingly casually in casual conversation. She remembers her mother’s commenting on Henry coming home from abroad (to her specifically, not to her sister, as if she should somehow care) and then the more direct instructions to go and befriend this older boy she had never even properly met.

Of course it is arranged. She likes to think herself not foolish. But that does not mean it had been unpleasant –until now, that is. Now, it is unpleasant. _“Our mothers know anyway – eased us into it. Everyone will get what they want.”_ She looks at him more directly –because she’s her mother’s daughter. _“Assuming that's the case, of course”_ , she tells him plainly, her fingers clasping the paper as discreetly as she musters. He takes his time – one of the things she likes of him is how he always thinks through his answers before he gives them (not this time, though, because she doesn’t feel the need of a carefully crafted reply), but he does raise his gaze to look at her,

He’s considerably older than her and it has never mattered but she can see it now, the distance between them. Yes, he does feel distant, so different from their usual mutual understanding; like they are talking about other than themselves, like it’s not about them at all (of course, i twill never be all just about them, but she wants her say and she does not regret it); or better yet, she’s the one doing the talking and he just stare as if the right answer is written in freckles on her forehead. _“There is no denying that this... our relationship is a start of solving many of our problems”_ , he says in the end –he has a slight accent that makes his voice interesting to her ear. _“And this kind of rubbish might help in public, since we want them rooting for us, but I do prefer keeping my private life private.”_

She silently congratulates him on the elaborate sentence – thanks for the effort. She puts the magazine down, straightening it on her knees. _“I understand and I agree on it, but I think you might be overreacting a little_ ”. She picks her words carefully. _“The secret is not entirely out of the bag, and everyone involved already knows what they need to know.”_

A crease on her forehead: she does not get it. He has said it himself it is good and well people root for them: strategically speaking, the more popular they gets as a couple, the better. So why  he is looking all bothered, as if he does not see it (because of course he does. He’s the universally acknowledged political mind, after all). Unless… unless he does not want it to be final. Unless he wants to keep his options open.

She stands up before she knows it, looking down on him with eyes in slits, her temper rising (she tends to forget it, but she’s her father’s daughter as well as her mother’s). She breaths to keep it in check. He does not move a muscle but he stares straight back at her, and she sees a slight amazement (no way to tell whether it’s in a good or bad way. To be honest, she does not even care, at this very moment). _“Perhaps you want to tell me what the real problem is, here, Henry”_ , she invites calmly (though she thinks it more as a threat than as a suggestion).

 _“I told you before.”_ His answer comes unexpectedly quick and straight. _“As much as we are to be a symbol, I gave this country as much as I’m willing to give – and I’ll give more if necessary, but putting our life on display for everyone to see, no matter the advantage, I’m not planning on.”_ He speaks firmly, the gentler expression she sometimes spots on him when they are alone all gone from his features.

For the first time, he looks as if he’s annoyed. At her. She can’t hide her disbelief but he, always so fast at catching her reaction, doesn’t even look like he notices. “I realize every time we set foot our rooms we become a public propriety. Don’t think I’m no aware of it. As I’m aware we ended up where we are because it was and it is the right thing to do. But” he stops, as if gathering the words escaping from the grasp of his thoughts, _“I’d like to think advertisement it’s not the ultimate reason we spend our time together, that's all. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, though.”_

She’s so shocked at this sudden burst of ranting –his cheeks are even a little redder, his breath a little ragged for all the talking, he's beginning to look sheepish (which strangely enough becomes him well)- that she says nothing, hears nothing (not the sounds of dried leaves chafing on the floor, not the wind as it slips under her skirt, not even the solitary bird late for the party of fall’s migrations). She leans down and kisses him, though, right then.

It’s not fierce and no tongue involved –only cold, dry lips brushing on each other rather awkwardly. She straightens herself soon enough (at least to her), licking the skin and only then tasting him faintly (mint for concealing a bad breath, though she can forgive him for it). She is not even blushing –she should: that was sketchy as fuck, as Cecily’d say. Instead, she savours his amazed look, as if he has been struck by lighting (she bets it’s not a common sight, so she stores it for later).

Now, she’s the silent one. She drops back next to him, steadying herself on the bench, one hand on the stone. Her stomach is a bundle and she feels like throwing up, whic is entirely un-queenly of her – that is until she feels his hand cover hers. The slightest brush, leaving her skin tingly. One foot stomps on her own face, smiling from the magazine cover but she pays no mind to it.

Besides, she’s smiling now, too.        

        

 


End file.
